


Gloved Fingers

by Short_Circuits



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: F/M, Holding Hands, Idk man I like these, Soulmarks, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26003380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Short_Circuits/pseuds/Short_Circuits
Summary: Everyone is born with a soul mark, a patch of pure black on their skin that would burst into a million colors when it came into contact with their soulmates.Lots of people came in to contact accidentally, realizing too late that their mark was in full bloom.Cleo didn't want to be one of those people.
Relationships: joe/cleo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	Gloved Fingers

Cleo didn’t much like handshakes. It was a common, ordinary thing for most people. A greeting. But not for her. She would wave, hug, even resorted to wearing gloves for a short while before realizing how impractical it was for making pottery. 

When she’d been little, she’d gone around pressing her palm against anyone who would let her, giggling as her soulmark came into contact with theirs. Everyone had one, a patch of pure blackness on a person’s skin that would burst into a million colors when you touched your soulmate. Cleo’s soulmark was one of the most common, the palm of her right hand dark as the void.

Before she’d realized what having a soulmate meant, she’d tried pressing her palm to everyone, hoping for color to burst from the contact. But as she’d grown older, she’d realized that if she met her soulmate that young, she’d either forget or never be with them. So she stopped giving handshakes, or anything else that could risk her meeting her soulmate before she was ready. That meant no grabbing hands, no high-fives, being careful whenever handing anything to someone. There could be no mistakes.

She hadn’t even wanted to date for most of her life. Lots of people dated those who weren’t their soulmates, unwilling to wait to find the perfect person, knowing many people never met their soulmates at all. Cleo had wanted to wait. She’d thought it would just be easier to hold out until she met her soulmate, and if she never did, then ah well. 

That was until she’d met Joe. He’d moved into town about a year earlier, and Cleo noticed how he’d go to the same Cafe she did each day. But instead of getting a warm drink and watching people pass outside the window, he’d sit in one of the large armchairs with a notebook, and write, tuning out the world. 

Her visits to the Cafe grew longer with each passing day, her interest in the writer stealing her attention for hours at a time. She would sit and watch him, and he never once looked up and saw her. So she noticed all the little things about him. How he wore glasses that were too big for his face, and instead of pausing his writing to push them back up his nose, he’d just scrunch up his face as they went back into place. She noticed how whenever he’d come in, he’d order the same cup of coffee, and how his voice was thick with a southern accent. Most of all, she noticed his gloves. They went halfway up to his elbows, elegant enough to allow him to write without hindrance. She wondered why he wore them.

One day, however, she’d arrived at the Cafe early, and he’d walked in, but instead of ordering his coffee as per usual, he’d made a beeline over to her, extending a hand for her to shake. And she’d done it hesitantly, years of self-taught habits flooding her brain. But she’d forced herself to shake his gloved hand, and he’d introduced himself as Joe, and they’d sat and talked for hours, their drinks long forgotten. 

They’d been inseparable friends after that, and after months of back and forth debate with herself, she’d asked him out, properly. They were never much for physical contact, Cleo figured the gloves were a sign Joe was uncomfortable with it. But they’d talk, and they’d laugh, and after years of forcing herself into solitude, Cleo was happy. For once, she almost forgot about her soulmark. 

But the thought never quite went away. The two of them had never actually made direct skin-on-skin contact. Joe could be her soulmate, she could be his. But did she want that? Would being soulmates put too much pressure on their relationship, make them feel like it had to be perfect? And if they weren’t soulmates? What if one of them met their soulmate, and so they had to break up? What if they didn’t break up, and one of their soulmates was unfairly left alone? No, it was better they didn’t know. 

*

They’d been sitting on the couch one night, watching a movie, Joe’s pristine glove the only thing separating their entwined fingers. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of her palm, and she was happy. She could live like this, never touching, if it meant she and Joe could be together. But of course her curiosity got the best of her, the question eating away at her mind, the one she’d had from the start. And she couldn’t help but blurt it out.

“Why do you always wear gloves, Joe?” And he’d silently paused the movie, turning to her, and taking her other hand in his gloved one. He sighed, answering slowly.

“I wear the gloves because I don’t want to accidentally meet my soulmate before I’m ready. My soulmark is on my palm, and I always figured I’d meet them in a completely mundane way. But I didn’t want that. I always wanted one of those movie stories, where sparks fly and fireworks burst and it’s a moment to remember forever. So I figured if I kept my soulmark covered, I could control it. I could wait until I was with someone amazing, someone I felt comfortable enough with to see if I was their soulmate.” He paused at that, squeezing her hands in his. “And Cleo, you are amazing. I didn’t want to bring it up because I didn’t want to scare you, but if you wanted to…?” 

She looked at their conjoined hands, weighing her options. A part of her longed to respond yes, of course yes, they should try it, but another part of her was worried about the consequences, and every anxious thought she’d had about this moment came crashing down on her. She’d just made the decision to say no, to say she was happier as they were, but then she looked up at him, and saw the pleading look in his eyes. 

She wanted so badly to brush the stray hairs out of his eyes, to cup his face, to kiss him, to even just hold his hand without gloves. And that pull was far stronger than her fears. So she nodded.

Joe smiled as he slowly pulled off his gloves, and she almost laughed. His fingers were long, and very pale, and she highly doubted they’d gotten any sunlight recently. But he held out a hand to her, a hand with a void black palm, and she reached out instinctively too, pausing when their hands were only an inch apart.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” 

“Yes.” 

She grinned, grabbing Joe’s hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing. They couldn’t see whether or not their palms had changed, but Cleo didn’t care for a moment. His hand was warm, far warmer than she was expecting, and it was soft, and strong, and her brain could only repeat the same thing over and over again. 

They were touching. Skin on skin. 

She forgot entirely for a moment about soulmarks, about colored palms, about anything at all. Except Joe’s hand in her’s. But eventually she came to her senses, hesitantly pulling their hands apart. And there, where their palms had been pressed together, were more colors than she could count. Far too many to name. 

She’d started crying, pulling Joe towards her, her head buried in his shoulder, laughing and crying at the same time, the whole thing too overwhelming.

They were soulmates. They were. 

And after that, Cleo relished in handshakes, in casual touches with her boyfriend, in intertwining their hands, exactly as they had done that first time. Because she’d found him. They’d found each other. And that was all she’d ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw this is longer than I meant, whoopsie.


End file.
